To actual royalty
Not mine, maybe.
But it was becoming mine, slowly.
“You’re making that up,” I said, still catching my breath.
“I have photographic evidence. Somewhere between her fourth wine cellar and her collection of scandalous auction paddles.”
That laugh… the second one… was louder. Looser. My head tipped back as it escaped me, the sunlight hitting my throat, my collarbone, the edge of my smile.
Click.
Click… click.
But I barely noticed the cameras anymore.
The whole room felt smaller, like the restaurant had curled in on itself just to make space for this moment… for this ridiculous story, for Adrian’s lopsided grin, for the warmth humming beneath my skin that hadn’t come from the champagne.
I blinked at him, still smiling. “You’re actually dangerous, you know that?”
Adrian tilted his head. “Because I tell good stories?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Because you make me forget there are people watching.”
His expression softened, the joke lingering at the corners of his mouth but something gentler behind his eyes now. “Then I’m doing my job right.”
Click. Click. Click.
“Hold that,” Ren said, circling around. “That exact expression. You’re not posing, you’re living.”
Plates of brûlée were slid onto the table… creamy, delicate, topped with shards of caramel so precise they looked like amber glass.
Adrian reached for a spoon, cracked the top, and offered me the first bite like it was instinct. “Ladies first.”
I took it, slow and curious, watching him watch me. “You’re spoiling me.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe I like watching you be spoiled.”
Click…
“Good Lord,” Jonah whispered, “someone get me a napkin, this chemistry is indecent.”
Gemma didn’t even look up. “It’s not chemistry. It’s narrative gold.”
I laughed again… nerves, disbelief, champagne, all bubbling together… and wiped the corner of my mouth just as Adrian leaned in closer. His cologne was warm and clean, citrus and cedar, grounding me.
He reached for my hand.
At first, I thought he was just steadying me as I shifted in my chair… but then he brought my knuckles to his lips and kissed them.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Click… click… click… click.
The air shifted.
Even Ren paused for a breath before continuing. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “This… this is the money shot.”
But the moment didn’t feel performative.
Not to me.
It didn’t feel like a scene for the camera or a strategy for the campaign. It felt like him, saying without words:
I’m here.
With you.
Always.
I met his eyes, unsure if I was thanking him or surrendering to him… or both.
“Careful,” I murmured, my voice barely above a breath. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start believing you mean it.”
Adrian didn’t blink. “I do.”
The words hit low in my chest. He didn’t say them to charm. He said them like a fact. Like gravity. Like he couldn’t imagine a world where it wasn’t true.
I swallowed. “This is a lot.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing just fine,” he said gently. “Better than fine.”
My fingers twitched in his, and he caught them, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist like he was memorizing the shape of me.
Around us, camera shutters clicked, catching the angles of our stillness. But I barely noticed.
Gemma cleared her throat loudly. “Okay, lovers,” she said, dry as Prosecco but with mist in her eyes. “Save some tension for the next shoot, will you? We’re still on the brunch set, not the engagement announcement.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the crew. A lighting assistant snorted softly. The makeup girl whispered “God, they’re actually in love.”
But Adrian didn’t let go of my hand.
Instead, he looked at Gemma with that easy smile of his. “You’ll get your angles. Just… give me a second.”
Gemma held up her hands in surrender, though she smirked. “Fine. Sixty seconds. After that, we switch to the terrace and I want wind in her hair, got it?”
I turned back to Adrian, still holding his hand in mine.
“You’re not letting go,” I said.
“Should I?”
I looked down at our fingers. “No.”
His voice dropped lower, just for me. “Then I won’t.”
The manager stood near the bar, arms loosely crossed, his expression a blend of awe and calculation — like a proud conductor watching the final crescendo of a symphony only he had believed in from the start.
He nodded once, subtly, as if to say, Yes. This is what we were waiting for.
Behind him, the staff had gradually begun to gather in quiet corners… servers pausing discreetly by the espresso bar, a hostess peeking out from behind a pane of smoked glass, even the pastry chef lingering just inside the kitchen doorway with sugar-dusted fingers and wide, reverent eyes.
“It’s like watching royalty,” I heard one of them whisper, breathless and soft.
“No one else looks that effortless,” another replied, his voice tinged with disbelief. “And she’s… warm. Like, human.”
“She laughed with the crew. Real laugh. Not the Miss X thing.”
I blinked, caught between pride and disbelief. Had I really just pulled that off?
Then came the final flash… a soft, deliberate click that felt more like punctuation than performance.
“That’s a wrap!” Gemma called, pulling the camera away from her face. “Flawless. Ridiculous. Who even looks like that in natural light?”
Light applause broke out, hushed but sincere, from the kitchen door to the maître d’s stand.
A few of the servers clapped quickly and looked away, like they weren’t sure if it was allowed. One busser even gave a shy little “woo” before disappearing behind a tray of linen napkins.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian smile… not his polished, politician’s son smile, but the kind he gave when something real touched him.
Then, the woman in the velvet suit approached. Her heels made no sound, her steps smooth as silk.
She held something in both hands… a slim, silver cardholder, matte and gleaming at once, engraved with delicate initials that shimmered when they caught the light.
She stopped in front of me and dipped her head slightly. Not a bow, exactly… more of an acknowledgment.
“For Miss Moreau,” she said. “On behalf of Clementine & Ash and our partners at Aurellia Media.”
I hesitated, heart skipping. Her voice was crisp, but there was something ceremonial in the way she held it… like an offering. Like this was more than a business exchange. Like it was a beginning.
And in that instant, every moment of doubt I’d had this morning rushed back to me… the eyes in the restaurant, the whispers about Adrian, the fear of losing control.
But none of it showed on my face.